


No One Lights a Candle to Remember

by Super_Theater_Nerd



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Arguing, Connor Still Dies, Family Drama, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Murphy Sibling Stuff, Plot is the same as in the show, Suicide, Zoe's perspective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-09-23 17:45:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17084852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Super_Theater_Nerd/pseuds/Super_Theater_Nerd
Summary: I think that I always knew that Connor and Evan weren’t friends. So many things just didn’t add up. When the truth came out I wasn’t even really mad at Evan. More mad at myself for convincing me that they just might have actually been friends.The plot of Dear Evan Hansen from Zoe’s perspective. Why? Because no one ever writes about her.





	1. Anybody Have a Map

**Author's Note:**

> Basically I really want to play Zoe one day and I like doing character analysis. This isn't purely analysis, it's still an actual story. This is all from Zoe's perspective. What she does and how she says things is how I would play her. Some people who have played Zoe play her as someone who did love her brother, while I think that Zoe hated him but changed her mind because she felt guilty when Evan told her all the things in If I Could Tell Her. I of course added in a few things. Like the fact that she plays the flute. Enjoy.

I hate my brother. My friends fight with their siblings, but it’s nothing compared to what Connor does to me. And I do to Connor. They fight about stupid things. Like being in the bathroom too long. Or taking each other’s clothes. Or snitching on the other one to their parents. Yes, we have argued over those things. But that’s only the tip of the iceberg.

He hates me because he thinks that I’m Mom and Dad’s favorite. In some ways it’s true. I mean, if I had two children and one of them did nothing but scream and yell and break things while the other played music and actually did stuff, I know who would be my favorite. 

Connor hasn’t seemed to realize that he might be Mom’s favorite. There’s no way I’m not Dad’s favorite, and there’s a good chance he is Mom’s. He’s like her little project. She’d do anything for him. Which I guess is good. Someone needs to be on his side because I definitely am not.

In my opinion I have an actual reason for why I hate him. He’s and asshole. Case and point, I might be eating breakfast and not saying anything and he would flip me off and push my chair over. I can think of more bad memories of him than good. I never felt any sympathy for him because I’d remember everything he put me through every fucking day for sixteen fucking years.

Since fourth grade I have had a total of seven instruments. Three guitars, two ukuleles, and two flutes. 

I have played the guitar for the longest. I picked it up during the summer before fourth grade. My first guitar was tiny and it wasn’t Connor’s fault that I needed a new one. I shot up in height and it was too small. So for Christmas I got a new one. And I know for a fact that if Connor hadn’t broken it, I would still be using it.

It was broken in a rampage. I was fourteen and he was fifteen. I think that it was Halloween. That year it had fallen on a Saturday and Mom was trying to get him to go trick-or-treating. It was a valiant effort, but it fell short. He lost his shit.

I was in the bathroom that Connor and I shared. My best friend, Lauren, and I were dying each other’s hair. Correction, I was dying the ends of my hair an indigo-y blue. And she was lightening her black hair. We were watching YouTube on my phone while we waited for the dye to process when we started to hear yelling. It was coming from downstairs. Lauren was over at my house to know that we should just ignore it.

The yelling intensified. I wanted nothing to do with it, so we went ahead and washed the dye out. I heard a few loud crashes as the two of us dried out our hair using old, dye stained towels. Lauren asked if everything was okay downstairs. I told her to ignore it. There was nothing we could do.

After that we stopped hearing voices. I assumed either Connor or Mom and Dad gave up. Still, I didn’t want to leave the safety of the bathroom. You see, there was this thing called a lock that could be clicked in place just in case. Our hair was dry and we were on our phones. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” 

Lauren looked at me, concerned.

I shook my head, “Just let him tire himself out. He’ll stop eventually.”

Wrong. There was more yelling and more accusations. Then I heard him stomp up the stairs. I heard him pass the bathroom. He was going to go to his room so the coast was clear for us.

I opened the door and gestures for Lauren to follow me. Connor’s bedroom door was two doors down from the bathroom. Mine was in between. As I looked down the hallway I saw him go into my room instead of his own.

“What the fuck, Connor?” I chased after him. He had already knocked a couple of books of the shelf. He was kicked things left and right and I had no clue what to do. I just stood in the doorway, yelling at him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Fuck off!” He chucked my ukulele capo that was lying on the ground at me. I ducked out of the way and it hit against the doorframe.

“Mom! Dad!”

Connor screamed and kicked my guitar. It flew from the stand it was on and landed with a crack. He kicked it again.

I stepped out of the way as my parents pushed past me. I turned and saw Lauren staring at us. I had forgotten that she was here. At this point I wasn’t even embarrassed. She was over so often that she’d already seen it all. I brushed past her.

“Do you want a snack?” I didn’t like talking about what happened with my family, “Mom went shopping yesterday.”

Connor got in trouble for that. Not as much trouble as he should have been in in my opinion, but it was a start. That weekend Dad took me to buy another one. 

My ukulele was broken not long after that. I had made the mistake of leaving it out and it was broken by the time I got home. For Christmas I got another one. I used it twice and then put it in the back of my closet. I don’t really know why I stopped. It just happened.

He broke a lot of my instruments, but admittedly my first flute was my fault. It actually was never broken. I just left my flute on the bus ride home in ninth grade and never got it back. One hundred percent me. 

Little known fact about myself, I’m in Jazz Band, Normal Band, and Marching Band. The geekiness is real. 

I started playing the flute in sixth grade because guitar wasn’t an option at school. I thought that I would quit in high school, but I liked it. I continued normal band and joined Marching Band because it got me out of P.E. for a semester a year. And I joined Jazz band halfway through the first semester of ninth grade. My only reason for that is it gave me an excuse to be out of the house. 

Jazz Band doesn’t start until mid-November, so I don’t have to bring my guitar to school. However, normal band and Marching Band starts on the first day. Technically, Marching Band doesn’t start until tomorrow. We practice in the morning for an hour or so before school starts. But first day we get to sleep in and come to school at a normal hour. 

I’m downstairs by seven-fifteen. Connor and I take the bus and it comes at seven-forty sharp. The ride takes twenty five minutes and school starts at 8:20. 

Mom and Dad are already up. Mom’s in the kitchen making coffee and Dad is on his phone at the kitchen table. She looks up and sees me. 

“Good morning, Zo,” I don’t understand how she’s so happy, “Ready for your first day?”

“I guess?” I go to the cupboard above the sink. I smile a little when I see we have Honey Cheerios. They’re the only decent cereal that survived Mom’s health kick this summer. I get a bowl and pour a bowl. There’s already a container of milk on the table.

I sit down and start eating. Mom tries to make conversation. I shrug and look at my phone. Everyone I know is making bullshit posts on Instagram about school starting again. I don’t think that I can see the words, “Ready for a Great Year Guys?” one more time and not scream. 

I put down my phone and take a book out of my backpack. I’ve read the first Harry Potter book way too many times, but it was the first book I saw on my shelf this morning. 

At about seven-thirty Connor comes downstairs. He’s wearing his round, brown glasses. Big surprise, he hates them. He needs them desperately, but he didn’t wear them all summer. Not even thirty seconds after he sits down there’s an argument. 

Mom wishes Connor a good day and he responds by saying:

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m going.”

“It’s your senior year Connor, you are not missing he first day,” Hey, Mom grew a backbone. Nice. 

“I already said I’d go tomorrow,” That’s probably true. “I’m trying to find a compromise here.” That’s definitely not true. 

“Are you going to do something or are you too busy with your email, Larry?” False, alarm. Not backbone. This is going to be good.

“You have to go to school.”

“Is that all you’re going to say?” Maybe she did grow a backbone.

“What, look at him. He’s not listening. Look at him. He’s probably high.”

Contrary to popular belief, I know for a fact that Connor has never smoked anything in his life. I know what it looks like when people are high. There are some band kids that are always stoned. They have a very specific smell and way of acting. Connor’s never smelled like smoke or acted like that. I don’t think he’s ever smoked. Not a cigarette. Not weed. He’s not high. Just really tired. I don’t know.

“He’s definitely high.”

It just slips out. I know it’s not true and I know it’s wrong, but it was so easy. He’s ruined almost everything for me in the past years. This is just a small victory for me.

“Fuck you!” 

“Fuck you!”

“Zoe, I don’t need you picking on your brother,” Is my Mom for real? “That’s not constructive.”

She has to be kidding. He cursed me out first and I just defended myself. I love my Mom. She tries, but she always takes Connor’s side. 

“You’re kidding, right?” 

No answer, “Besides, he’s not high. You’re not high are you?”

Connor neither confirms nor denies it. Mom and Dad don’t really believe that Connor’s high constantly, right? He doesn’t even act high most of the time. He’s an asshole, but my stoner band friends normally turn into bubbly delights when they’re high.

“I don’t want you going to school high, Connor, we have talked about this.”

I lock eyes with Connor . He’s not high. But he’s going to milk it.

“Perfect, then I won’t go,” Connor stood up and pushes past her, “Thanks Mom.”

I resist the urge to say something. It’s hard. I keep eating.

“The interstate’s already jammed,” He complains.

We do that a lot. Complaining out loud while everyone around us ignores us. I do it. Mom does it. He does it. 

“Connor finished the milk.”

See, I do it too. I don’t even care that he drank the rest of the milk. Why would I add more milk to cereal that already has milk? It just feels natural to complain.

“I’d better head out.”

I lean over and catch a glimpse of Dad’s phone. It’s seven thirty-seven. The bus stop is on the corner of our street so I’m not late yet. I put Harry Potter in my backpack and stand up. 

As I unravel the earbuds connected to my phone I pass my Mom, “If Connor’s not ready I’m leaving without him.”

Mom used to say that I didn’t mean it. Whenever I said I’d leave him behind somewhere, no one believed me. But I would have no issue with it. I’m not going to be late because of him. If he makes the bus, great. If not, even better.

I put my earbuds in and scroll through my music while walking the hundred feet to the bus stop. I have about a million playlists. But my favorite is the one we made for bus rides to marching band competitions. All of the worst meme and youtuber songs you could think of compiled into one super playlist. 

The bus pulls up to the stop at seven forty-one right as Raping Vs. Rapping fades out. Connor’s still nowhere to be seen. I tap my bus card and sit down in the back of the bus. There’s only three other people on the bus. We live in an area that no one else from school lives in. Ergo, no one ever on the bus.

I expect the doors to close and the bus to drive away. But Connor slinks on and sits down in the front of the bus before any of that happens. Either Mom convinced him to go or Dad’s forcing him to. I think that it’s the second one. 

The first ten minutes of the bus ride is boring. I zone out and look out the window. My music drowning out everything around me. We don’t stop at any stops for a really long time. When we finally stop I look up. We’re about halfway to school. 

Someone on the bus had pressed the stop button. They were let off. The doors started to close but reopened. 

“Wait! Don’t leave! I’m almost there!” 

In the distance I see Henry LaChapelle running towards the bus. I forgot that he rode this bus. He’s in all of the bands with me and we’re pretty good friends. He lives closer to me than anyone else I know. 

The bus driver takes pity on him and waits for thirty seconds. Henry jumps into the bus, taps his card, and slides into the seat next to me.

“Zoe, you’re brother’s staring at me,” He says barely above a whisper, “Why is he staring? How do I make it stop.”

“Relax,” I say, “He stares at everyone. It’s no big deal.”


	2. First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of school. Zoe talks to Evan and Connor cuts class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took longer than expected, but here we are.

Eventually Connor gets bored and stops staring. Henry still looks terrified. I laugh at him to hide the fact that I think that he has every right to be scared. Connor may be a complete assfuck at home, but he’s a mean, explosive assfuck at school. Actually, that’s not accurate. He’s explosive and mean at home too, just more so at school. I think that sometime in middle school Henry and Connor had been in the same art class or something and Connor had gotten mad and flipped Henry’s desk. I don’t know all of the details, I heard the story secondhand from someone in the hall. All I know is that Henry didn’t do anything and his desk ended up upside down across the classroom. 

We get to school at 8:09. As soon as the bus stops, Connor’s out and walking quickly to wherever the hell he goes to. Henry and I have first period together. I don’t use my locker, so I follow him to his. 

The halls aren’t full, but more and more people are showing up. In about four minutes when everyone with and A period gets out, the halls will be mass chaos. Everyone trying to speed walk to their next class in five minutes. 

Henry has a bottom locker because he’s short. I make fun of him for it everyday. He’s not even that short, just compared to the other boys in our grade he is. 

I mess with the lock on the locker above him while I talk, “During summer practice, did Mr. Mirza say we’re getting new jackets?”

“Uh huh,” He doesn’t look up, “For marching, Wind, and jazz.”

“Cool,” I can tell what he’s thinking, “Sorry you didn’t make Wind this year.”

“It’s whatever, Mirza said he’d put me in next year. For now I’m fine in Symphonic, hanging out with all of the freshmen.” 

“There are more tenth graders than ninth graders in that class.”

“Still…”

There were four levels of band. Concert, Symphonia, Symphonic, and Wind Symphony. I started in Symphonia in ninth grade and over the years I’ve moved up. Usually the people in Wind quit Jazz Band and Marching Band if they’re in it. The people in Wind play double the amount of music that the other levels do and compete. I’m probably stupid for not dropping the other two. If it’s horrible I’ll drop one of them for next semester or next year. 

I check the time on my phone. There’s only two minutes before the bell rings and the halls flood. I tell him to hurry up. He then starts to talk about something that I honestly don’t care about. Out of the corner of my eyes I can see Connor. He’s alone, eyes darting around the hall like someone’s going to snipe him. 

There are two other boys that I think are in his grade a few feet away from him. I think I know them. I know that I know the one with the glasses. Jared Kleinman. He’s a well known asshole, but he was in my band freshmen year. The other one’s name starts with an E. I think. Evan. Yeah, I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s Evan. They’re talking about something. I can’t hear. Jared then turns and says something to Connor. Connor’s face goes completely still. He inches closer to them. Glasses says something else and turns and leaves. 

Before I know what’s happening, Connor’s rushing past the kid in the stupid blue shirt and pushing him to the ground. I consider going after him but I know I can’t catch him. Instead I abandon Henry and walk over to Evan. 

His eyes are darting all over the place. He looks like he’s about to have a mental breakdown. Evan keeps pulled his blue polo shirt down. Before I can offer my hand to help him up he stands up. When he sees me he looks like a deer in the headlights. His eyes go wide and his mouth is open slightly. It’s weird, but kind of cute? 

“Hey. Sorry about my brother. I saw him push you.” I’m always apologizing for him because he never apologizes for himself. “He’s a psychopath.” I hold my hand out, “Evan right?”

Evan goes to shake my hand but he yelps and pulls it back and wipes it on his shirt and pants. He croaks. “Evan!”

I retract my hand because he’s definitely not going to shake it. He’s so awkward that it’s painful to watch. “That’s your name right?”

“Oh. Yes. Evan. It’s Evan. Sorry.” He starts off a little to loud and realizes his mistake about halfway through. His voice fades out at the last word.

I laugh a little, “Why are you sorry?”

“Well, just because you said, Evan, and then I said, I repeated it, which is, that’s so annoying when people do that. So…” I can tell he’s kicking himself for talking. 

New subject. Okay. We can do that. 

“I’m Zoe.”

“No, I know,” That’s probably one of the strangest thing he’s said and says it like it’s nothing. What is wrong with this dude?

“You know?” I’m not even mad. It’s fun to see where this conversation will go. 

“No, just, I’ve seen you play guitar in jazz band. I love jazz band. I love jazz. Not all jazz. But definitely jazz band jazz.” He catches himself again, “That’s so weird. I’m sorry.”

I want to ask if he’s okay. But that’s really fucking rude. Going up to someone and asking if they’re okay. That’s one way to make someone feel like shit. 

“You apologize a lot,” Way to make him feel better. 

“I’m sorry.” Now I feel bad. Just stop apologizing. “Or. I mean. You know what I mean.”

I look over my shoulder and see Henry pointed at his watch dramatically. The bell’s going to ring any second now. We need to go.

“Well, I’ll talk to you later.”

“You don’t want to sign my….” He blurts out. 

I stop, “What?”

Evan turns bright red. Like actually, tomato level red. 

“I didn’t say anything. You said something.”

“I didn’t say anything,” I shake my head, “You said something.”

“No. Me? No way.” He spits out the first thing he thinks of. “Jose?”

“Ummm…. Well, okay. Jose?” I hate myself. I shoot finger guns at him as I back away. 

The bell rings. Henry and I sprint down the hall to our first period. We probably look like two ninth graders who have no clue what they’re doing. Only half of that’s true. Not ninth graders, but we have no clue what we’re doing. 

Then we realize that we don’t exactly know what classroom we’re going to. I pull out my schedule that I folded up and put in my pocket earlier this morning. 

-A Period- Marching Band, K. Mirza (Field)  
-Period 1- Chemistry AP, B. Foley (S-318)  
-Period 2- Pre Calculus HP, J. Lee (M-208  
-Period 3- English 10 AP, L. Silhavy (E-100)  
-Period 4- German 3, D. Barber (L-230)  
-Period 5- Wind Symphony, K. Mirza (Band)  
-Period 6- Psychology AP, S. Peralta (S-305)

I’m supposed to have U.S. History but I double dipped and took it over the summer at the community college. I get college credit and high school credit. It sucked but it lets me take psychology this year. Psych is a senior class, but juniors can get in.

Henry and I get to S-318 with time to spare. Ms. Foley is supposed to be okay. A good person but shitty at teaching. She lets us sit where we want for the first day. I sit sit at a table with Henry and Lola Garten. 

First period is fine. It’s the first day. Literally nothing happens. She tells us the rules, gives us the syllabus, and we play some stupid ice breaker game. My second period is all the way on the other side of the school. I only have seven minutes so as soon as the bell rings I start speed walking. 

The desks are organized in rows instead of groups. I sit down in the front and take out my phone. The desks around me fill up and the bell rings. I look around and there are a few people I know.

Mrs. Lee starts going off about the rules. Everyone listens or at least pretends to listen. About five minutes into the class I’m staring out the window and doodling on the syllabus we were given. There’s a sudden shift in the class. Everyone looks to the door. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Connor smiled and flips me off. I do it right back. Then I realize that Mrs. Lee is staring at us. She’s going to hate me. 

She turns to Connor, “And who are you?”

“Connor Murphy.”

She had her role sheet on a clipboard. Using a blue pen she made a mark about halfway down the list. “Sit wherever there’s a free place.” She stares at me for a second, looks down at the clipboard, looks at Connor, and then me again. “Are you two twins or something.”

“No, he’s older.” I say.

“I see…”

It’s not complicated. I’m a year ahead in math and he’s just average. Surprise, surprise, he hasn’t had to repeat Algebra I or II or Geometry. I know though that he barely passed those classes. 

“Yeah…”

And she doesn’t bring it up again. Not that I’m complaining. Talking about Connor outside of the house is one of my least favorite things. Connor will inevitably have a huge freak out in class and let’s hope that Mrs. Lee doesn’t wedge me together with him. I'm not going down with him.

But I hear people talking about Connor. My classmates aren't great at whispering. And I know that Connor heard them. Thankfully he ignores them. He’s good at that. Ignoring the world.

The bell rings and it’s off to English. Nothing special in that class. German’s German. Mr. Barber is the strangest teacher that I have ever had, but I love his class. Also, he lets you retake everything as many times as you want. Even the final. You can’t fail.

Lunch is always the most interesting part of the day. I never know what will happen. I always sit with my band friends on the steps in front front of the Science building. But I never know if sometime during the period someone will come up to me and tell me that my brother punched someone. Or knocking a trash can over. Or locked himself in something. 

For the first ten minutes of lunch goes off without a hitch. I don’t see or hear anything about Connor. Maybe this year will be different. Maybe he won’t be a complete nightmare like every year before.

“Twenty bucks that I can carry Zoe on my shoulders,” Danny Webber says. He quit normal band a while ago but he’s still part of the cult called marching band. He’s nice. I think he’s gay but it’s never been confirmed nor denied.

“I have twenty cents and a half eaten granola bar,” Lauren’s eating grapes like a crazy person. She’s peeling the peel off of them with her teeth and then nibbling at the grape insides. 

“Are you willing?” I nod.

He kneels down and I climb onto his shoulders. He stands up and I nearly fall off. Danny’s not tall, but I have the worst balance ever. Turns out it’s better than his.

“Fuck!”

Danny topples forward and I do a flip before landing on my back at his feet. 

“Oh my god!” He freezes, “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, I’m all good.” I pop up and give him a thumbs up followed by finger guns.

“What a fucking loser.”

I turn my head and see Connor at the top of the staircase we’re sitting on. He comes down and I flip him off. He does it right back.

He has a crumpled up piece of paper clutches tightly in his right hand. I point at it.

“What the fuck is that?”

“None if your fucking business.”

Connor turns and starts walking towards the one gate the school always keeps open. There’s a security guard there at all times to make sure no one without a school ID can get in. Anyone who’s late goes through there. And tenth, eleventh, and twelfth graders can leave through there for lunch. I can go off-campus but I don’t think there’s enough time to get food and eat. 

“Where are you going?”

“You tell me ass-fuck!”

Somehow Connor has never gotten his off-campus lunch pass taken away with all the shit he does. He shows whoever’s on duty his ID with a little lunch sticker on it and just leaves. I know he’s not going to come back when lunch is over. He’s going to go do whatever the hell he does.

My friends definitely have questions but they don’t ask thankfully. It’s kind of just a known thing that my family has issues and I don’t like talking about it at school. 

At school and at home I’m like two totally different people. And because my social life never mixes with my home life, basically no one knows except me.

At school I’m one of the happiest people in my grade. I have great friends. My grades aren’t bad. I’ve never been lower than third chair flute in any band I’ve been in. Life is good. It’s easy to be nice and happy and smiley when people around you are too. 

And it’s not that I’m never happy at home. I am. Sometimes. We have our nightmarish moments but then there are the ones where we’re not at each other’s throats or passive aggressively insulting one another. It’s nice. But the last time we’ve had one of those moments was over a year ago. 

Mom and Dad are always fighting over something. I’ll give you three guesses who. It starts with a C and he just walked out of school. If you guessed Connor Levi Murphy then you’d be correct. Fifty points.

By now Connor has learned to tune out their arguing. Or at least pretend to. And I have too. Kind of. But it’s all they ever talk about. I hate to say it, but if they don’t get a divorce by the end of the year, I will kiss a squirrel I see on the street. 

Connor’s a complete dick. I’m sure there’s something redeemable about his personality, but it’s too late for him. No matter what Mom says he’s going through, it doesn’t mean he can act like such a jerk. He’s a bad person. I want him out of my life and soon I’m not wishing death on him. I wouldn’t ever do that. But I’m looking forward to this school year because once he graduates he’ll be gone. And knowing him. He won’t come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I made Connor’s middle name Levi. This is who I’m imagining as each character.
> 
> Zoe- Maggie McKenna  
> Connor- Ben Levi Ross  
> Evan- Michael Lee Brown  
> Jared- Will Roland  
> Alana- Phoenix Best  
> Heidi- Jessica Phillips  
> Cynthia- Garret Long  
> Larry- Aaron Lazar 
> 
> I know that a lot of them are understudies but I like how they look as the characters. And I don’t know about you, but whenever I read fanfic where Connor ends up with Evan, I see Ben Ross as Connor and Taylor Trensch as Evan.
> 
> And if you’d like, check out my fan account on Instagram. @whygostatingtheobvious


	3. After School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After school and an unusually quite family dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it took a while but it's done.

Band and AP Psych go by quickly and before I know it, I’m speedwalking to the bus stop. The Science building is all the way across campus from the bus stop. The bus I take only comes once every half hour and leaves four minutes after school gets let out. I check my phone to see if it’s early or late. The bus is five minutes late and I slow down. 

Henry comes sprinting from wherever his last class before seeing me and slowing down. He has acting last period which is funny because he doesn’t act. Like at all. But he needs a non musical art credit to graduate and acting is the easiest to pass. 

“We has to memorize everyone’s name. And I fucked it up so badly. I don’t remember any of their names and they all got them all right.” He complains.

“You can memorize music, shouldn’t you be able to memorize names.”

“Shouldn’t you be on my side.” 

“No, I’m on my side and you’re on your side.”

“Whatever.”

The bus is just as empty as this morning. Henry and I sit in the back of the bus again. There is only one other person on the bus. Some crazy rich lady who has a dog in her purse. That’s the kind of people that live in my neighborhood. Texans are crazy. 

“What was with Connor during lunch?” He asks.

I sigh.

“I mean it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it. We can talk about something else if you’d like. How about French toast. You like French toast, right?”

Henry’s always been a people pleaser. It makes me laugh. Honestly, I’m surprised that he doesn’t have a girlfriend yet. A lot of the boys at school are kind of huge dicks. He’s actually a decent person.

“It’s whatever. I don’t even know. Connor’s just fucking crazy. So, you know.”

I start laughing and he looks at me funny.

“I just remembered.” I snort, “Dinner tonight is going to be a shit show. Mom and Dad are going to destroy him. I don’t even know why I’m laughing. It’s not funny.”

This is how I know that Henry is a good friend. He deals with all the shit that comes with being my friend. 

He gets off at his stop and it’s down to me and dog purse lady. I untangle my earbuds and plug them in. I’m in a Panic mood. 

For whatever reason I feel the need to check in with Connor. I don’t know why. He doesn’t care about my well being so why should I care about his. But I have an urge to text him. 

Hey.  
Connor.  
You okay?

Surprisingly I got a reply. Unsurprisingly:

Fine.  
Why the fuck do you care?  
Fuck you!

Right back at you.  
Why do I even try anymore?  
IDK  
You’re a fucking idiot?  
I don’t have time for this.  
Just don’t stay out too late.  
You’re a bitch.

Our conversation ends right there. Connor can go suck an egg. He’s already too far gone. 

The house is empty when I get there. I forgot my key somewhere in my room so I grab the hidden key from under a potted plant. The door clicks open and I’m hit with the overwhelming scent of lemon scented house cleaner and cinnamon. I have no idea where the cinnamon would be coming from.

I think Mom’s at some sort of book club or something. I don’t really know or care. But she won’t be back until five probably. And Dad’s at work and he doesn’t get back until seven. And Connor is off doing dumb shit and won’t be back for a while. I have the house to myself for at least two hours. 

Well, not completely to myself. We have a dog and a cat. A corgi named Tilly and a tabby named Nacho. Tilly was a gift for my twelfth birthday. I had wanted a dog for such a long time. She’s technically a family dog but she sleeps in my room and I walk her and give her baths and feed her. I used to hate walking her, but it gives me an excuse to get out of the house sometimes.

Nacho was Mom’s idea. He’s a therapy cat technically. Mom got him for Connor. His therapist had said that getting an emotional support animal for him might be a good idea. A dog was out because we already had Tilly and they would play together. And a horse or bunny was out of the question too. That left a cat. 

Mom and Connor went down to the animal shelter to look at cats one afternoon. They were gone for three hours. It was raining when they got back and Connor walked in, cradling a tiny, orange cat in his arms. Shielding it from the wind and rain. It was kind of cute.

Connor told me that it’s name was Nacho. At the time I didn’t know why Connor had gotten a dog. Mom explained that night that Nacho was going to be an emotional support animal for Connor. Hopefully it was going to calm him down. And by the looks of it, it was working.

Nacho got certified, not that it really mattered. All Connor needed to prove it was an ESA was his prescription letter from his therapist. Connor and Nacho were inseparable.

Nacho clung on to him and he let it. I remember walking downstairs one afternoon and seeing Connor and Nacho on the couch in the living room. Connor was staring blankly at the wall, but Nacho’s front paws were wrapped around his wrist. Hugging his body close to Connor’s. It was adorable. I don’t know what was going through Connor’s head, but he was calm. And that’s what was important.

Both Tilly and Nacho are in the kitchen as I get home. After putting my backpack upstairs in my bedroom I go into the kitchen for a snack. Ninety-nine percent of the snacks we have are gross, weird vegan/gluten free things. But I know if I search hard enough I’ll find some pretzels or mini chocolate chips. Dairy free chocolate chips. But I know we have them.

I find them in the back of our pantry door. There’s a little less than half of a bag left. I take the entire thing because why not. I won’t eat it all, but still.

Tilly notices me and rubs up against my leg. It’s her way of begging. I can’t give her chocolate, but there are dog treats on the counter. I take a small one and let Tilly eat it out of my hand. Her tongue is warm and it tickles. I rub behind her ears. When I turn around Nacho is sitting there, waiting for his treat. I grab a treat from the cat jar and give it to him. 

Upstairs in my room I sit on my bed scrolling through social media while eating chocolate chips. I don’t have homework and I’m enjoying the free time. It won’t last. 

Out of curiosity I begin to wonder what Connor’s bedroom looks like now. I haven’t been in it, let alone seen into it in well over two years. His bedroom door doesn’t lock anymore, so technically if I wanted to I could barge in any time I wanted. But I’ve just never felt like it. His door’s always closed and I’d feel bad if I just walked in. 

 

I imagine it looks like a pit of darkness. Curtains closed. No light getting in. Clothes on the ground. Messy. Basically the bedroom equivalent of Connor. 

I put my phone down on my side table and tiptoe out of my room and down the hall. I don’t know why I tiptoed, no one else is home. I open the door slowly and am met with a surprisingly clean room. Then again it’s completely dark and I can’t see much of anything. His curtains are drawn. I flip the light switch. 

His bed is made. Almost like he didn’t sleep under the covers at all. He has a few Knick-knacks on the shelf next to his bed that he’s had for years. His bedroom walls are bare. I think he used to have some sort of posters or paintings on the wall. 

His bookshelf is also surprisingly neat. I remember that he likes reading like a lot. I don’t think that he does it as much now, but in middle school, ninety percent of the time I saw him he was reading. I guess I’d read a lot too if I didn’t have any friends. Actually, even if Connor had friends, I think that he would have still read just as much.

Connor’s room looks so normal. Like a normal, not depressed teenager who doesn’t spend every second in his room slept there. It’s so weird being in here but I can’t seem to make myself leave.

Downstairs I hear the front door open and loud footsteps followed by lighter footsteps. I know that one set of footsteps belongs to my Mom. Which means that either Dad are Connor are back too. However I know that Dad will be at work for more than an hour. That leaves Connor. I’m going to assume that the loud, heavy footsteps were his and the softer ones were Mom’s. She must have seen him walking around some park and picked him up. That happened a lot. 

I hear heavy footsteps going up the stairs. Connor pushes open his bedroom door and freezes when he sees me. First he looks surprised. Can you really blame him? I’d be shocked if I got home and saw him in my room. Then his surprise morphs into anger. I can see it in his eyes. I should get out, fast. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Relax, I’m leaving.”

He steps in front of the doorway, blocking my exit. 

“What the fuck were you doing?”

“I didn’t touch anything. I was looking for scissors.” I lie.

He doesn’t move, “You know that I don’t have any fucking scissors.”

Right. I cringe. After what happened a few years ago Connor’s room is free from anything sharp. No scissors. No pencil sharpeners. And the pocket knife that Dad gave him when he was ten is now stored in Mom and Dad’s room. And whenever he needs scissors for school or something like that he had to be under the supervision of Mom or Dad. It’s a little overkill. But I’m glad he doesn’t have access to them anymore. 

“Sorry,” I push past him and go back to my room. I hear him mumble something under his breath and then his door slam shut.

Not the greatest interaction, but there have been worst. I don’t know if Connor will calm down by dinner. He’ll probably just sleep until Mom calls us downstairs. 

I go to my closet and dig my ukulele out from behind all the things I’ve hoarded over the years. It’s up against the wall, next to a couple of boxes. The silver capo that I left on the first fret when I put it away two years ago is still on it. It’s a little dusty and so out of tune it’s not even funny, but I it should still work. 

I have a guitar and ukulele tuner app on my phone for my guitar. I switch the setting to ukulele, take of the capo, and start tuning. In a matter of minutes it’s sounding just like it used to. I strum out the few chords that I remember. I have forgotten how much I like the sound of the ukulele. 

I put the capo back onto the first fret. I start strumming out the easiest chord progression I can think of. C followed by G followed by Am and then with F. I like it. 

C. Down, down-up, up-down-up. G. Down, down-up, up-down-up. Am. Down, down-up, up-down-up, F. Down, down-up, up-down-up.

I make up a melody as I repeatedly play the progression. 

La da da da.  
La da da.  
La da da da da da da.  
La da da da.  
La da da. 

I like it. A lot actually. I stop and reach for my song notebook on the ground next to my bed. I flip to a blank page. I leave room at the top for a title. I have no idea where this song is going. I scribble down the progression.

I pick up my ukulele and start strumming. Hoping lyrics will come to me. 

C, G, Am, F. 

When it’s just you and some song.  
That you don’t know how to play.  
Fake your way through, strum along.  
Be cool and you’re okay.

It’s not great and I still don’t know where this song is going to go or if I’ll ever finish it. But, it’s a start. I keep strumming and humming, trying to think of more lyrics. Nothing comes to me. Still, I keep at it until Mom calls for Connor and me. 

I lean my ukulele up against my bed and grab a hair tie off of my desk. I quickly braid all of my hair into a single braid, hanging over my shoulder and head downstairs. Surprisingly, what Mom made doesn’t smell horrible. It’s going to be gluten-free and vegan and whatever the hell Mom’s into now, but if it tastes half as good as it smells. I’ll be able to choke it down and slightly enjoy it. Hopefully. 

Dad’s already sitting at the table, on his phone when I get there. I didn’t hear him come in, but I’m going to assume that he hasn’t been home for long. Mom’s in the kitchen finishing up whatever she cooked. I greet Dad and then go into the kitchen and open the fridge. Mom went to the store today and got more sparkling apple juice which happens to be my favorite drink.  
I twist off the top and pour out a glass. I filled it up too high and I carefully sip it as I walk back to the dining room. In the time it took for me to get my juice, Connor dragged his ass out of his room and into the seat across from Dad. I sit down next to him. He glares at me and I glare back. 

There’s large pieces of lettuce already on the table. That means that we’re having vegetarian lettuce wraps. And I’d be lying if I said I hated them. They’re actually pretty good. I wish that they had some sort of ground meat in it, but it tastes good compared to some other things she makes.

Dad puts away his phone when Mom walks in, holding a bowl of tofu and mushrooms and onions and carrots in some sauce. She sets it on the table in the middle, next to our bowl of fake apples and sits down across from me, next to Dad. 

We all take a piece of lettuce and start putting the filling in the wrap. There’s silence for a good few minutes. All of us eating and unsure how to begin a conversation.

That’s the thing with our family. If you start a conversation the wrong way, it could end in disaster. Connor’s not going to start the conversation and neither will I. I’m not risking it. Dad won’t either. He won’t risk it. So that leaves Mom.

“Zoe, Connor, how was your first day?” She says, way to happily.

“It was fine, I guess,” I answer quietly.

“That’s good,” She turns to Connor who’s avoiding her eyes. “How was your day?”

“Bad,” About halfway through middle school Connor stopped trying to lie about his day. Throughout sixth and seventh grade, no matter how bad his day was he would say it was good. Now, he tells the truth. Which is kind of refreshing. “Zoe’s in my Pre-Calculus class.”

“Really?” Both Mom and Dad look really surprised. 

“Yeah.”

“That’s weird,” Mom looks like she’s ready to start a new conversation. 

I should keep my mouth shut, but I have to say it. It’s not like they would never find out if I didn’t say something about it. School’s going to call about it later tonight. 

“Connor skipped fifth and sixth period.” I blurt.

Connor kicks my shin underneath the table and kick him back. 

“Connor, Zoe. No.” Sometimes I think that Dad thinks that we’re dogs.

“Connor, you can’t keep skipping school like last year,” Mom looks a little hurt, “We’ve talked about this.”

Mom and Connor talk about a lot of things. Especially when Connor’s doing stuff she doesn’t want him to be doing. Skipping school. Doing drugs that he doesn’t do or at least doesn’t do anymore. Locking himself in the bathroom. Staying out all night without telling anyone where he is. Punching a kid who started laughing at him. Not eating for a few days. 

I think that at one point, Connor did really listen to Mom and tried to be better. But he definitely doesn’t anymore. He kind of just nods and agrees to whatever she says and ignore it. Mom knows he does this too, but she keeps doing it because she thinks that one day he’ll listen. Maybe he will, but Connor’s reached a certain point where he’ll push away anyone. Even the one person that hasn’t gave up on him. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” He mumbled, “Sorry.”

“Just don’t skip tomorrow.”

Connor nods, staring at his food. He doesn’t say much during the rest of dinner. I don’t either. And neither does Dad. Mom’s basically having a one sided conversation with rare comments from the three of us. 

For most families, dinner would have been considered a fail. No one really talked and it was over in less than twenty minutes. But for us, it’s the best family dinner we’ve had in at least six months. There weren’t any passive aggressive comments thrown at Connor or Dad. And no blow-out screaming matches which is always good. 

After a ridiculous period of time without speaking Connor stood up and picked up his plate, “I’m going to my room.”

“Okay,” Mom gives him a smile that he doesn’t return. 

I leave after him. I can hear Mom and Dad talking about Connor with quiet voices. I don’t know what they’re talking about but I don’t think it’s good. 

I watch “The Office” on my computer for the next few hours. I’ve seen all of the episodes more than once, but it’s a good distraction. It’s funny. It makes me laugh. It’s a nice change of pace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully I can start writing faster. Anyway, life's good. I'm in the ensemble for Mamma Mia right now. That's about it. Like, comment, and do whatever you do.
> 
> Zoe- Maggie McKenna  
> Connor- Ben Levi Ross  
> Evan- Michael Lee Brown  
> Jared- Will Roland  
> Alana- Phoenix Best  
> Heidi- Jessica Phillips  
> Cynthia- Garret Long  
> Larry- Aaron Lazar
> 
> I know that a lot of them are understudies but I like how they look as the characters. And I don’t know about you, but whenever I read fanfic where Connor ends up with Evan, I see Ben Ross as Connor and Taylor Trensch as Evan. But that's not what this story is about.
> 
> And if you’d like. Check out my fan account on Instagram. @whygostatingtheobvious


	4. That Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Murphy's have an eventful night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was hard for me to write. But I'm really enjoying writing this. Enjoy.

I don’t hear or see of my family for an unusual long time. If there isn’t a fight at dinner I’ve come expect a fight after dinner. Surprisingly, there’s nothing. I guess all of us decided to mind our own business. 

It’s about half past nine when I start texting Henry. 

__________  
Zoe: Yooooooo! 

Mr. LaChapelle!

You up?

Henry: Why would I be asleep?

I’m practicing.

Zoe: Ur sax?

Henry: What else would I be practicing?

Zoe: Siiiiccckkk!

Broooooo!

Henry: Please stop.

I don’t like it, Zoe.

Stop. 

Zoe: Fine.

Can you talk?

Or should I leave you the fuck alone.

So you can play.

Henry: No, it’s fine. 

I don’t want to work.

*says in a John Mulaney voice*

Zoe: You are a fucking nerd. 

Henry: Ummm, actually.

It’s geek. 

Nerds are fans of actual relevant scientific and mathematical concepts. 

Geeks are fans of fictional things. 

Zoe: How did I ever become friends with you?

Henry: You tell me. 

So…..

Zoe: So…. what?

Henry: How’s your brother?

Zoe: And why would that information concern you?

Henry: Because I care about the well-being of a human person. 

Zoe: Fair.

He’s fine. 

When he was gone I went into his room.

And…

It’s really clean.

And he caught me. 

We fought for a little. 

But that’s about it. 

He’s in his room now. 

Henry: Okay. 

Got to go. 

Sorry.

Mom’s on my ass for not practicing this summer. 

And I think if I don’t start practicing she’ll ground me or something. 

Zoe: Have fun, nerd.   
;)

Henry: Geek.

Whatever.  
__________

I woke up this morning much earlier than I’m used to by now. During the Summer I slept much more than I should have. I slept maybe five hours last night and for the first time in months I’m tired at nine-forty. 

I change into shorts and a tank top. It’s too hot to wear anything else for pajamas. Today it was ninety-two degrees and tomorrow it’s not getting any cooler. Lucky for us, everyone in Dallas has air-conditioning. If our air-conditioner broke, I think I’d die.

I brush my teeth and put my hair up into a ponytail after brushing it out. Then I go downstairs to the kitchen to get a glass of water. The kitchen and dining area and living room are all in the same room. It’s supposed to be some sort of open concept thing. I don’t really know. 

Dad’s home office is off the side of the living room and I see the light on. He’s going to be occupied for a while. 

My hopes of not having to interact with anyone is squashed when I see Mom boiling water for tea. I don’t know if tea’s a part of the weird diet thing she’s doing now. Probably, I don’t think that she actually likes tea. 

“Zoe,” She lights up when she sees me. 

“Mom,” I mumble, heading straight for the cabinet where I know the glasses are. 

“How are you doing?”

I turn and look at her, “What kind of question is that supposed to be?”

By the look on her face, she doesn’t know either. I shake my head and turn my attention back to getting a glass. 

“Connor’s in your math class, right? Funny, isn’t it?” She says. 

I turn around again with a water glass in hand, “Yeah, fucking hilarious. My psychotic older brother is in my math class. It’s not like he’s going to have a tantrum in class. It’s not like he’s going to flip a desk or start crying or punch someone. Because that has never happened in any of his classes. Sure, it’s funny.”

“If it bothers you so much you can transfer out of the class.”

“Mom, you know I can’t,” My grip on the glass is getting harder, “It could mess up my whole schedule. I’ll just suffer through it and hope Connor doesn’t freak the fuck out. It’s fine.”

“I could ask Connor if he could transfer out.” She says hopefully.

I scoff, “Yeah, right. It’s fine. Whatever.”

I fill up the glass from the tap and hurry upstairs. This family has issues. I admit I’m not doing anything to help us, but I’m not the main reason we’re fucked up. Most people would assume that I think that Connor’s the big issue with our family. Yeah, he’s pretty big problem. But Mom and Dad are right up there with him. 

It’s not that I think that Dad isn’t trying, but he’s not trying as hard as he used to. At this point he’s kind of given up on Connor. Accepted the fact that there’s something horribly wrong with his son and stopped caring enough to try to help him. I can’t even blame him, I think that if I was in his situation I would be clueless to what I should do too. Still, I think that he could handle our situation better. 

And Mom’s on the opposite side of the spectrum. Her problem might be that she tries way too hard to be the perfect Mom. I guess it’s nice that she’s always there for us, but that’s kind of all she does. Both of them have no clue what to do with Connor because no one expects their child to fall into a state of depression and anger and self hatred. No one teaches you how to deal with that. 

I finish the water and put my glass on my dresser. I check to make sure my alarm is set and I plug in my phone. After turning off the lights I get in bed. I lie awake for maybe an hour, thinking about everything going on in life before drifting off to sleep. 

Truth be told, I’m not a heavy sleeper. Never have, never will be. Maybe I used to be a heavier sleeper, but now, slightly loud footsteps and a squeaky door will wake me up. Living in this house I can’t be a heavy sleeper. Sometimes Connor will do something in the middle of the night and he’ll have to go to the hospital or something. Last year I had to wake up seven times due to Connor related events. 

A couple hours later I wake to a scream. I think that it’s Mom. The more I think about it, the weirder it is that I recognize my family’s different screams. I hear someone rushing up the stairs, The screaming doesn’t stop, only now there’s crying. 

I quietly open my bedroom door and poke my head out. Connor’s bedroom door is open and I see the lights on. Are Mom and Dad in there?

I hear Dad, “Cynthia, you need to calm down. I’m going to call an ambulance, okay? Good.”

Connor definitely did something. 

He tried to kill himself. Again. 

It’s not a good thing that I’m not surprised. I don’t want to say that I expected him to try again. That makes me and the rest of my family sound really bad. That we didn’t do anything to help Connor. We’re the assholes and villains. Which is actually pretty accurate. 

I let Mom and Dad panic. There’s nothing I can do in this situation so I go back into my room. Connor’s tried to off himself more than once. He’s going to be fine. I hope. If he’s not I’m going to think back to now and kick myself. 

I get into my bed and check the time on my phone, it’s eleven-thirty. I’m not tired anymore. The nap I took gave me a lot of energy. On my phone I go onto Youtube and tap on the first video on my feed. It’s a Sanders Sides video from a few days ago. I never got around to watching it. I’m probably going to let myself get sucked into a Youtube black hole. I don’t need to go to sleep, Mom and Dad never make me go to school if something happens with Connor during the night. I always get woken up. 

There’s a lot of commotion down the hall. Screaming, crying, sirens, and then everything goes silent. The house is empty. Who knows when Mom and Dad will be back? It’s the first time that I haven’t gone to the hospital with them when something like this happens. I usually wake up and ask them what’s going on. This time they must have not wanted to wake me up, Therefor it mustn't have been that bad. If Connor really might die then they would have woken me up. Or they forgot about me. 

Before I know it the sun begins to rise. I look out my window and stare at the sun as it climbs higher. I haven’t seen a sunrise in a really long time. It’s pretty. Peaceful. Unlike everything in my life. 

At five fifty-seven I hear the back door open. Someone’s crying. Mom, maybe. 

I put my phone on my side-table and head downstairs. Dad’s standing at the kitchen island on his phone, his face showing no emotion. It’s scary. Mom’s worst. She’s sitting on the couch, bawling her eyes out. They don’t realize I’m there. She calms down a little by the time I announce my presence. 

“What’s going on?”

They look at me. 

“Zoe.”

Dad sits on the couch next to Mom. Holding her clothes. They gesture for me to sit down next to them. I sit. 

“Zoe, your brother,” Mom’s choking out her words, “He… Last night he… He…”

“He tried to kill himself, I’ve gathered that by now,” I snap, “What was it this time? What did he do?”

“Your brother took a bunch of pills.”

I don’t get why they’re freaking out so much. Connor’s overdosed before. 

“And, he….” Mom starts crying again and Dad tries to comfort her. 

“Connor’s dead.”

I don’t know how to respond. 

Connor and I hated each other but I never wished that he would kill himself. 

I told him to fuck off this morning. I sat next to him in Pre-Calculus. I texted him this afternoon. I went into his bedroom and fought with him. And now he’s gone. I’m never going to see him again. 

The last thing I did was rat him out for skipping school.   
The fact that he saw no reason to live anymore is horrible. But I totally understand why he did it. Why he’s been trying to do it. We’re a shitty family, so we wouldn’t be a reason why he should stick around. There’s no friend to tell him that everything’s going to be okay. No one was on his team. No one has ever been on his team. He’s known it for a long time. He just hasn’t convinced himself until recently. 

I’m not even mad. God, I’m such an asshole. I don’t feel anything. I don’t feel like crying. I’m shocked sure, but not sad. I’m not glad. Connor’s gone, so what? He made all of our lives worst. I hate him. 

“I’m going to go to my room.” I say barely above a whisper. 

“Okay, sweetie,” Mom’s voice is just as low, “Take as much time as you need.”

I know that Henry doesn’t wake up until six-thirty, but I don’t care. I dial his number and wait for him to pick up. Hopefully the ringing will wake him up. 

After ringing for a few seconds he picks up, “Zoe, it’s six-fifteen. What is wrong with you.”

“Shit happened, I don’t want to say what. You’ll hear about it soon. But holy fuck, I don’t know what to do.” I ramble. 

“You okay?” He senses that the call’s important and doesn’t seem upset about being woken up early. 

“Fine, just… I’m not going to be at school today or tomorrow. I don’t know. It could be a while. Just, tell Mr. Mirza that I’m sorry I’m missing Marching Band. And it would be great if you could send me the Chemistry work.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” He pauses, “Can I ask what happened?”

“I’d rather not say right now. In a few days everyone will know, I’ll try to tell you before then. But until then, it would be great if we just don’t talk about it.”

 

“Yeah, that’s cool.”

“I got to go now, thanks a bunch, Henry.”

“No sweat.”

The line goes dead. 

I don’t know what else I can do, so I grab my ukulele off the ground. I start strumming the song I started last night. I try to block off everything around me. Words just start coming to me.

So your fingers get tangled in a pile.   
Your rhythm is a mess.   
But nobody sees, ‘cause you smile.   
And the world will never guess. 

Can’t let them know.   
‘Cause no one understand.   
Your face can’t show.   
What your hiding in your hands. 

I’ve been trying to not think about Connor and everything. But if Mom and Dad hadn’t tried to deny what was happening in front of them, he might not be dead right now. Connor could have gotten the help he needed. Instead, we’re here. 

Daughter and son, man and wife.   
Fill the photos on these walls.   
Look at the fun, perfect life.   
Of plastic dress-up dolls. 

Happy house on a quaint suburban street.   
The sun hangs in the sky.   
Everything framed, nice and neat.   
In a lovely little lie. 

I’m not writing down anything. But I doubt I’ll forget any of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, Connor's dead now. Leave a comment if you so choose to. 
> 
>  
> 
> Zoe- Maggie McKenna  
> Connor- Ben Levi Ross  
> Evan- Michael Lee Brown  
> Jared- Will Roland  
> Alana- Phoenix Best  
> Heidi- Jessica Phillips  
> Cynthia- Garret Long  
> Larry- Aaron Lazar
> 
> I know that a lot of them are understudies but I like how they look as the characters. And I don’t know about you, but whenever I read fanfic where Connor ends up with Evan, I see Ben Ross as Connor and Taylor Trensch as Evan.
> 
> And if you'd like. Check out my DEH fan-account on instagram. @whygostatingtheobvious


	5. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe skips school and learns of something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go.

I stay home from school for the next three days. The house is quiet. Too quiet. Mom’s in her room crying or trying to distract herself. And Dad’s in his office next to the living room doing work. 

I think that Connor’s cat can sense that something isn’t right. Nacho has been wandering into every room with an open door, looking for Connor. He’s spent so much time with Connor that he’s not used to having him gone. It’s kind of sad.

Earlier this morning I went into Connor’s room and found Nacho curled up on his bed. He looked sad. I thought about picking him up and taking him to my room to hang out with Tilly and me. But when I got close Nacho started hissing. Best to leave him alone.

Tilly knows that there’s something wrong too. The three of us are never home together during the day time. On the weekends and holidays, Dad’s at work, Mom’s out somewhere, Connor’s wherever he used to go, or I’m out with friends.

Tilly rests her head on my thigh and I rub her belly while I watch compilation videos for The Office. I don’t have to think about what’s happening and it’s distracting. I laugh a couple of times. It’s feels wrong. But I can’t help it. I don’t feel sad. 

I’m upset that Connor would do it. And I’m mad at him for all he did. I don’t think he deserved to die and I didn’t think that he should kill himself ever. But I don’t miss him. There’s nothing to miss. He was a disaster. He made everyone hate each other. Maybe we can finally be a normal family without him. 

Shit. That sounds really bad. I sound like a bitch. But then again, maybe I am a bitch because I don’t miss my dead brother. But do I really care? Not really. I’m not going to pretend like he was a good person. 

At twelve-forty I get a text from Danny.  
____________  
Yo!  
Where are you?  
I’m sick.  
Okay, get better soon.  
Thanks.  
___________

Sure, I lied. But what’s happening in this family is need to know and he doesn’t need to know. He’ll hear about it eventually. Mom and Dad are going to have to tell the school about Connor. They’ll wait a few days or until the rumors get too extreme and send out an email and make an announcement. Like last year.

There was this blowout Halloween party last year. I didn’t go because I’m not a partier and I’d rather eat Twix bars while watching Disney Channel Halloween Specials. But the next day at school, I heard so much about it that I might as well have been there. There was first hand information because so many people were there, but there was even more altered second hand information and rumors. 

To this day, I don’t know all the details or if what I know is really what happened, but I have a good idea. 

The party was at Elodie Zimmerman’s house. She’s in Connor’s grade I think. I think that Elodie’s parents were out of town and Elodie decided to have a party. Now there’s one thing to know about Elodie. She’s not known for being smart, or funny, or nice. She’s known for being a partier. And she likes big parties. I don’t know what her logic was but she basically invited the whole school. And anyone who didn’t get invited and showed up was let in. 

Ian Timburg who was in Jazz Band with me had gone. He told me that Elodie’s house was huge. I can assume then that she lives in the other super nice part of town that I don’t live in. If she lived in my neighborhood I would have heard the party.

Ian also said that the amount of drugs and alcohol going around at the party was stupid. There was loud music and everyone was drunk or high and it was chaos. Ian said that the kitchen counter was completely covered in full bottles of alcohol. And there were people barfing in the bushes in the front yard. That’s where my first hand information ends because Ian left after fifteen minutes. 

The party went on for anywhere between two and three hours. It ended when the police came and ended it. They cleared out the house and while they were helping people out they found the bodies. There were five of them. All freshman.

One of them did survive, which I guess is good. But four people still died that night. I think one of the worst parts was the fact that Elodie and her older brother who was twenty or something who had come over when he heard that the party had gotten out of hand had found three of them. There were two girls that had passed out in the living room who had already receiving medical attention.

Elodie had walked into their guest room and found a boy passed out. He was throwing up but also lying on his back. She froze and screamed. Her brother rushed in and started helping her downstairs and on the way down they came across two more passed out. More ambulances were called and it’s generally accepted knowledge that nothing happened after that. 

For the next few days rumors flew. Some people say that someone was drugged. Some people said there was a drinking contest. Some people said that they all killed themselves. Some said that they all died. Some said that none of them did. I tried not repeat information because I knew that it might have been wrong. 

Most rumors were put to rest a few days later when Mr. Howard got on the loudspeaker and made an announcement. He said, “We are saddened to share the news that four of our students have passed away. They were at a party that got way out of hand. With all the rumors circulating about the students and what happened the parents of the four students have decided to share further information about the ordeal. Your parents will be receiving emails concerning this event later today.”

I learned from mom that they all were in ninth grade. Two of them died from alcohol poisoning and the other two overdosed on who knows what. The one who lived overdosed on something too, the only difference is obvious. 

It was weird because a lot of people knew them. I didn’t of course. But turns out they were pretty popular amongst the youngsters and everyone them. Still, no one really cared after a week. We had a drug and alcohol assembly and that was that. We remember the names of them but no one was broken up about it. No one wanted to make a difference. 

I wonder what Mr. Howard will say when he makes the announcement about Connor. He’ll probably say some bullshit about him. People will pretend to be sad for a day and then go back to making fun of his memory and doing stupid shit like high schoolers do. 

I can hear Mom in the kitchen downstairs. Part of me wants to stay hidden away in my room, but I’m getting hungry. I haven’t eaten since last night. When Connor was still alive. 

I really need to stop thinking about it. He’s dead. That’s that. There’s nothing I can do about it. I just need to get over it. 

I go down stairs and see Mom cutting peaches into slices. The oven’s on and I can see our container of gluten-free flour on the counter. I put two and two together and come to the conclusion that she’s making peach pie. Gluten-free flour is kind of gross, but at least it’s not also vegan. Gluten-free vegan pie is the worst thing I’ve ever tasted. That’s not true, but let me be dramatic.

She’s crying. I feel bad for her. Connor was an ass, but Mom loved him and I think that Mom knew that Connor loved her a little too. She’s also his mother. She’s kind of required to be sad about the death of her child. 

I clear my throat and she looks up. When she sees me she wipes her eyes with her sleeve. 

“Hi,” I whisper. 

“Hi,” She puts her knife down, “How are you?”

“Fine, I guess.”

Mom nods and we stand in silence for a moment. I don’t know what to say if I should even say something. 

“What are you making?” Rhetorical question. 

“Peach pie, it’s the end of peach season and, well…” Her voice fades out slowly. 

Connor loved peaches I think. I never learned why, but every summer when we’d get them he’d eat a lot of them. And his birthday fell at the peak of peach season. So every year Mom would make a peach pie and we’d eat it outside in the sweltering Texas heat. We tried our hardest not to argue and for the most part we never did. It was nice. 

We were happy. Partly because we were high off of sugar. But mainly because we were functioning somewhat like a normal family. Dad would tell a weird story about someone he met at work. Connor would tell us about the book he was reading. And I would laugh at Mom’s stories about whatever she does in her free time. 

I don’t know why Mom’s making a peach pie now. It’s just making her sadder because it’s making her think of him. Maybe it’s because it reminds her of the good times with Connor. Instead of the bad moments. 

“Do you want help?”

I should just shut up, microwave some ramen, and go back upstairs. Instead I decide to start talking. 

“Sure, if you don’t mind,” She wipes her hands on a kitchen towel and motions towards the uncut peaches. 

I nod and find another knife in the kitchen drawer. Mom takes out another cutting board and puts it on the counter next to hers. I take a peach and slice it in half, remove the pit, and cut them into eighth. Mom already peeled the peaches so it’s pretty easy. We sit in silence for a while. 

“You know, despite what you might think, Connor…”

“No! I don’t want to talk about my brother. Can’t we just forget about it? Talk about literally anything else.” I snap. 

“Sorry… I won’t mention him for the rest of the day if you don’t want me to.” I nod. Please. “Okay, I promise I won’t bring him up. Let’s change the subject.”

“Thanks,” I think for a second, “How many peaches are you using? There are so many.”

I point to the ten peeled, uncut peaches on the counter and the half filled bowl of cut peaches. 

“I don’t know, four, five pounds.”

“Oh my god, Mom, five pounds of peaches is way more than we need.”

“Well,” Mom laughs, “If we have extra we can just make more crust and make more pies. We can freeze them and stock them up like squirrels.”

“Oh my god. We’re going to burn down this kitchen one day.”

“Shut up,” She flicks water at me and I laugh, “So… How’s Henry?”

Mom’s still dead set on the fact that Henry and I should date. I don’t think she can wrap her head around a platonic friendship. Normally I would correct her but it’s not the time. At least it will take her mind off of the whole Connor situation. 

“He’s fine.”

“Any classes with him?”

“A couple.”

“That’s nice,” She has this weird smile on her face. “By the way, Micah’s coming over next Sunday.” 

“So soon? I thought he wasn’t coming until Thanksgiving. With Elliot.”

“Well, you know Micah goes to Rice. He’s going to catch a ride with a friend down here.” She swallows, “He can’t make it for the funeral, but he’s going to stay for a couple of days.”

I nod. 

This is so not a good idea. Micah is three years older than Connor and for some inexplicable reason, he looks exactly like him. Maybe Micah is a little scrawnier. Scratch that, he is definitely scrawnier. And the fact that Connor is already kind of stick like doesn’t help his case. Micah and Connor looked so alike that on family trips people would assume they were twins or at least siblings. 

Mom has either forgotten this or asked Micah to come over for that reason. Micah’s going to be some sort of substitute Connor. I hate it. She needs to move on. Her little brother isn’t going to fill in for her son. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“What are you talking about?” 

“It’s just Micah… He… Nevermind.”

“It will be nice to see him. I probably have the record for least amount of time spent with a sibling.” She sighs, “It’s too bad El can’t come too.”

Micah and Elliot are technically Connor and my Aunt and Uncle, but they’re barely older than us so they feel like our cousins. They’re Mom’s younger siblings and they were born when Mom was twenty-four. Well Elliot was born when she was twenty-four. Micah was born two years later. 

So he’s nineteen, almost twenty and she’s twenty-one, almost twenty-two. 

“I guess.” 

“Can you get the sugar and flour and butter and vanilla?” Mom changes the subject. 

“Yeah.”

We make the crust and the filling. The house smells like sugar and peaches. Any tension that either of us have us lifted. It’s happy. Sad, but happy somehow. 

The pies are done at two-forty. As they’re cooling in the counter Mom suggests that we go to the store and get some ice cream to eat with the pie. I’m surprised that she wants to get ice cream because it hasn’t been in our freezer in years. She goes out to the store and I’m left alone.

Well not alone. Dad’s still in his office. I don’t think he’s left at all today. I haven’t talked to him since early this morning. I haven’t ever been in his home office I don’t think.

I gather the courage to push open the door to the office. He’s at his computer. I stand there for a second before he looks up. 

“Hi.”

“Hey, Zo,” He closes his laptop, “How are you.”

“As good as you can get.”

He nods. 

“Mom and I made a pie.”

“So that’s what all the noise was.”

“Peach.”

His face falls. This last summer, Connor’s seventeenth birthday, we hadn’t had a peach pie. For a solid few weeks Connor straight up refused to leave his bedroom. He didn’t have a door so Mom could go in and give him food, but he refused to leave. He used the bathroom when we were all gone or all asleep. 

When his birthday rolled around on July ninth he wouldn’t budge. Mom tried convincing him. Dad yelled out him. Nothing. He refused to move. 

So we wished him a happy birthday and left him alone for the rest of the day much to his delight. That night he let us all into his room without yelling at us. I gave him an awkward pat. Dad gave him an even more awkward hug. Mom gave him a real hug. And then we left.

“What have you been up to?” I change the subject quickly. 

“Not much, emails and emails and emails.” 

“Do you know when I’m going back to school?”

“Wel, you’re not going tomorrow. And we’ll figure it out for next week,” He says. 

“Okay.” I swallow, “I don’t think I should go next week. Everyone’s going to be talking about Connor. Pretty much everyone has expected that he’d kill himself for the past three years. By tomorrow no one will know for sure, but they’ll know what Connor did. And by Monday people will be coming up with ways he could have done it. In a week it will be played out and…”

“I’m sorry, people thought that Connor was going to commit suicide?” 

“Yeah, and?”

“Did anyone ever tell him to kill himself?”

I know that Connor didn’t think that Dad loves him. And I guess sometimes it seemed like it. But Dad did and still does. He just didn’t show it well. I think he wanted the best for Connor and didn’t know what to do when it felt like Connor didn’t want to do what was best for himself. 

“Ummm….”

Do I answer truthfully or lie? 

“Well yeah. A few people.” More than a few. I’ve heard a bunch of people, mainly girls whispering about him and saying that he should kill himself. I think he heard them a couple times. And a few guys have said it to his face. Much to my surprise, he didn’t tell it hit something. He started crying. 

Dad’s shaking his head. “Why would anyone… When he’s clearly…”

“Because kids are assholes Dad,” I interrupt, “They were mean. Maybe Connor deserved it, but they’re still mean.”

Now I don’t want to talk with Dad. I wish Dad would talk about something other than Connor. No such luck. I’m on the way to my room when the door opens and in walks Mom. She’s carrying a grocery bag. 

“Zoe, if you’re not busy with something important, your father and I need to show you something.”

“Okay,” Her statement is vague and I’m intrigued.

“We’ll do it over pie if that’s okay?” 

I nod. 

Mom gets Dad from his office while I get plates and forks and an ice cream scoop. I cut three pieces and scoop melty ice cream on top. Something calls me outside and I balance the plates as I go outside on our deck. I put them on the coffee table and sit on one of the couches.

It’s well over ninety degrees and I’m kind of dying. But I think that we all need to get outside. A few minutes later Mom and Dad come out. There’s a folded up piece of paper in Dad’s pocket. I try to ignore it. 

We make light conversation for a few minutes. The pie’s great and tasting actual real sugar is nice for a change. Dad and I make fun of Mom’s yoga friends and we laugh for a solid ten minutes. 

Then the mood shifts.

“Zoe…” Dad starts, “There’s something we need to show you.”

“Yes.”

“When Connor….” Killed himself. Just say it. “Well he… He had this folded up in his pocket.”

I can see tears in Mom’s eyes. Dad has no emotion. What happened to the happy couple a few minutes ago. 

He holds the folded up piece of paper out to me. I take it hesitantly. 

I watch them as I unfold it, “Is it some sort of suicide note?” The silence is all I need.

“Just take a second and read it.”

__________  
Dear Evan Hansen,

Turns out this wasn’t an amazing day after all. This isn’t going to be an amazing week, or an amazing year because why would it be?

I know, because there’s Zoe, and all my hope is pinned on Zoe, who I don’t even know, and who doesn’t know me. Maybe if I could just talk to her. Maybe nothing would be different at all.

I wish everything was different. I wish I was a part of something. I wish that anything I said mattered to anyone. I mean, face it. Would anyone notice if I just disappeared tomorrow?

Sincerely,  
Your Best and Most Dearest Friend, Me  
__________

Mom’s crying by now. 

I don’t feel anything. 

I just have questions.

Why the hell would Connor write a suicide note to Evan fucking Hansen? And Why the fuck would he pin anything on me?

I only know two things for sure. 

One, Connor’s dead and he’s not coming back.

Two, I still don’t miss him.

Not even slightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment if you’d please.
> 
> Zoe- Maggie McKenna  
> Connor- Ben Levi Ross  
> Evan- Michael Lee Brown  
> Jared- Will Roland  
> Alana- Phoenix Best  
> Heidi- Jessica Phillips  
> Cynthia- Garret Long  
> Larry- Aaron Lazar
> 
> I know that a lot of them are understudies but I like how they look as the characters. And I don’t know about you, but whenever I read fanfic where Connor ends up with Evan, I see Ben Ross as Connor and Taylor Trensch as Evan.
> 
> And if you'd like. Check out my DEH fan-account on instagram. @whygostatingtheobvious

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on the next chapter. I'm hoping it will be done by Saturday. My last day of school before break is tomorrow. We'll see.
> 
> Zoe- Maggie McKenna  
> Connor- Ben Levi Ross  
> Evan- Michael Lee Brown  
> Jared- Will Roland  
> Alana- Phoenix Best  
> Heidi- Jessica Phillips  
> Cynthia- Garret Long  
> Larry- Aaron Lazar
> 
> I know that a lot of them are understudies but I like how they look as the characters. And I don’t know about you, but whenever I read fanfic where Connor ends up with Evan, I see Ben Ross as Connor and Taylor Trensch as Evan.
> 
> And if you’d like. Check out my fan account on Instagram. @whygostatingtheobvious


End file.
